


the only john wayne left in this town

by lisainthesky, rooonil_waazlib



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Plug, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Table Sex, a lot of bad cowboy jokes, bucky's costume is a surprise, cowboy!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 11:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16474778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisainthesky/pseuds/lisainthesky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rooonil_waazlib/pseuds/rooonil_waazlib
Summary: The M&M hits the floor and rolls under the fridge, but he doesn’t really notice.Steve’s peeking out from under the wide brim of his cowboy hat, a blush spreading across his cheekbones. Always so shy, even when Bucky’s staring at him with his mouth open like an idiot, even when he’s trying to be sexy, leaning against the wall like that with his thumbs in his pockets and his hips cocked.





	the only john wayne left in this town

It’s not—well, it’s not _comfortable_ , alright. Or—okay, parts of it are comfortable: Bucky can’t help but wiggle happily in his footie pajamas, the fleece warm against most of his skin.

The mask, though—that’s not comfortable at all. True, it’s just a paper plate that Bucky’s drawn on with red and yellow Sharpies, cut slits for eyes and mouth, and attached an opened rubber band to, but somehow he doesn’t feel that he’s going to be able to wear it all night. And that doesn’t even cover the joy buzzer that Bucky’s painted blue and slipped onto his palm as a makeshift hand cannon. He’s pretty sure he’s going to end up hucking that thing across the room once it’s done its job of giving Tony an aneurysm.

Bucky grabs another handful of peanut M&Ms and pours them into his mouth. “Babe,” he calls, drumming his fingertips on the shut door to the bedroom, “hurry up.”

“Almost done,” Steve replies, and then there’s a thump and a clatter.

Bucky puts one hand on the doorknob, concerned. “Babe?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, I’m—all good,” Steve calls. “Just—lost my balance. I’m good.”

Fiddling with the zip on his onesie, Bucky retreats back to the kitchen, where he hops up into a seat on the table next to the bowl of M&Ms. He practices his trick shots while he waits, bouncing his M&Ms off all sorts of improbable places before catching them in his mouth. He’s just about to break his record of eight bounces when he hears the bedroom door open.

The M&M hits the floor and rolls under the fridge, but he doesn’t really notice.

Steve’s peeking out from under the wide brim of his cowboy hat, a blush spreading across his cheekbones. Always so shy, even when Bucky’s staring at him with his mouth open like an idiot, even when he’s trying to be sexy, leaning against the wall like that with his thumbs in his pockets and his hips cocked.

And what a view _that_ is, Bucky thinks as his eyes wander over Steve’s bare torso and his brain gets all staticy. The jeans Steve’s wearing are almost indecently low and tight, showing off every perfect muscle in Steve’s stomach and the cut of his hips dipping into the waistband. Between them is an absurdly large belt buckle with an eagle flying over an American flag. It’s almost stupid enough to distract Bucky from the obvious bulge in Steve’s jeans.

Almost.

“Well...howdy,” Bucky croaks, and then, to cover how shaken he is, grabs the M&Ms bowl. “You—you want an M&M?”

For some reason that seems to break Steve, and his posture changes as he starts laughing, sliding off the wall and reaching up to hold his hat on his head. “Christ—oh, Christ,” he giggles, and straightens up. “Are you wearing _anything_ under that, Bucky?”

Bucky clears his throat, still staring. Steve’s not wearing a shirt. There’s no shirt there. He’s...shirtless. Finally the question processes through his brain and he looks down at himself. His onesie is unzipped all the way past the bright blue arc reactor, leaving most of his chest exposed. “I—uh?” he manages. “I’m—I’m wearing undies.” He looks at Steve again, appraising. “Are _you?_ ”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Of course not,” he says, gesturing with both hands to his crotch. “Where could I possibly fit underpants in these?”

Bucky actually wheezes for a second before managing to scrape together what’s left of his overwrought brain. He pushes his mask up and props it on top of his head. “I—you can’t go to this party topless,” he announces. “You can’t; it’s not allowed.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Steve replies, and he saunters forward, swinging his hips a little, biting his lip as he gets near. He’s not wearing shoes, and even with those jeans and his blush riding high on his cheeks, it adds a level of...comfort to the whole outfit that makes Bucky wild for him while also melting with affection. He doesn’t know how Steve does this to him. “I just wanted to see what you thought of my costume before I finished it up.”

“We’re gonna be late,” Bucky says, but his voice is weak.

“Yeah, we are,” Steve agrees, and slips between Bucky’s knees to kiss him.

Bucky wheezes again. He reaches up, puts his left hand on Steve’s back, just above the waistband of his jeans where he’ll feel it cold on his skin. They sit so low he can feel the dip just above the crack of his ass. With his right hand he gropes at Steve’s chest—and Steve jolts, shudders, breaks away from him to look down.

“Fuck—sorry, I, sorry—” Bucky mumbles, pulling at the joy buzzer. “Forgot I was wearing—”

“It’s fine,” Steve says, his voice loud. “It’s—just surprised me, is all. It’s, uh, it’s fine.”

Looking up into his face, his stupid handsome face, Bucky winds the buzzer quick as he can, then reaches out and places his palm directly over Steve’s nipple. He presses down, and the buzzer activates. Steve jolts again, going from pink to red; his pupils actually dilate as Bucky watches, and his breathing goes sharp and quick.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Bucky says. He slides his left hand down, into Steve’s jeans. They’re so tight he can’t get most of his hand in there, can’t get a good handful, but he digs his fingers in anyway. Steve hums and wiggles closer.

“Jesus,” Bucky mutters, leaning back a little to look at Steve. His blush is spreading all the way down to his chest now. “Jesus, baby, why are you doing this to me?”

“Save a horse, ride a cowboy,” Steve says, solemn and only slightly breathless. “It’s an American classic.”

“No, sweetheart, no it ain’t,” Bucky says. “An American classic is _not_ wiggling up all over me trying to get in my pants right now. No fuckin’ way.”

“Excuse you, I’m as classically American as it gets.”

Bucky snorts. “Sure thing, honey. But here I thought you would be riding me, showing off your ass like this.”

Steve pauses, thinking that one over. Then he pushes the paper plate off Bucky’s head and replaces it with his cowboy hat. His hair is all messed up from the hat and Bucky seriously loves him.

“Problem solved,” he says with a big, bright smile. “Now lay back.”

He pushes on Bucky's chest; Bucky goes with a groan.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Steve—lube.”

Steve's grin widens. He reaches into his back pocket without a word and pulls out a bottle of lube, dropping it on Bucky's chest before starting on his belt buckle.

“Jesus _fucking Christ_ ," Bucky says, staring. “You were—you were planning this whole thing, weren't you?”

“Of course I was.” Steve pauses to give him a look. “I knew what you'd think. I look dumb to you?”

“No, sweetheart, not at all,” Bucky says, too turned on and frankly stunned to even take the obvious shot. “Not at all, you look amazing, come here.”

Bucky makes grabby hands at him; Steve laughs and finishes undoing his jeans, and then Bucky gets to watch him wriggle his way out of them, shimmying his hips and jumping a little. Bucky groans again.

He has to sit up again to take his onesie off. It’s better this way anyhow—he gets a better view of Steve's hips shimmying and his tits bouncing, and he can resettle the cowboy hat on his head, taking it off so he can run his fingers through his hair and get it to lie right before putting the hat back on. He kicks his pajamas off and tosses the joy buzzer away at the same time Steve finally gets his jeans down, kicking them under the table. The belt buckle clanks absurdly on the floor.

“Can't believe you,” Bucky mutters as Steve climbs into his lap. He's smiling and still blushing like he doesn't know exactly how sexy he is, like he didn't do this with the express purpose of sitting on Bucky's dick. “Can't believe what a slut you are, baby.”

Steve wiggles just like he did to get his pants off,  and wouldn't you know, it's even better when he's sitting in Bucky's lap. His big hands grip Bucky's shoulders as he leans in for a long, dirty kiss.

“You like it?” he breathes when he breaks off.

”Like it? Shit, honey, you drive me fuckin’ _crazy_." Bucky punctuates it with a rough squeeze to Steve's ass before fumbling to open the lube and pouring some onto his left hand. “Come here, c’mere, darlin’, let me—” he chokes on his own spit, fingers sinking into Steve easier than he’d expected, two right away when he’d just meant to rub, torture him a little.

Steve’s grin is sharp, exhilarated, and he rocks on his knees, taking Bucky’s fingers deeper. His eyelashes flutter, his smile melting as pleasure seems to take him over, and Bucky pulls him down and into a kiss, licking at him. Under Bucky’s palm Steve’s body stretches and writhes, hot.

He sits up after another second or two, hand pressing Bucky back down to the table when he tries to follow. “Get your dick wet,” he says, and even if it hadn’t been an order Bucky would be getting a hand around himself just from the dripping sex-wrecked register of Steve’s voice. And then Steve’s wiggling down onto him, just like that, gasping all high-pitched, his head falling back.

Groping at him, Bucky watches as Steve takes what he wants, his hips falling into a rhythm that’s slower than Bucky might have expected from how quick things have gotten to this point. “Yeah,” he murmurs, like an afterthought, “yeah, _fuck_ , like that—Bucky—”

Bucky runs a hand up his side, tracing a circle around one of his nipples and continuing up, along the ridge of his collarbone, to his hair. He tugs on it, and Steve’s eyes snap open as he groans. Steve plants both hands on Bucky’s belly and leans his weight forward a little until he can start moving harder, faster on him.

“Look at you, sugar,” Bucky pants, wanting to thrust up and unable to with Steve’s weight heavy on him. Instead he keeps petting at him, tugging his hair and reaching down with his other hand to rub at where he’s in Steve. Steve shudders, tightens up all over. “You like that, baby? Oh, honey, sweet thing, come on, faster—please—”

With a grin Steve obliges him, slamming himself down faster and harder; Bucky moans, reaching up above himself and gripping the far edge of the table with both hands.

Something cracks, and they both freeze as the table makes a weird jelly bounce under Bucky’s back.

“Don’t move,” Bucky tells Steve, “don’t fuckin’ move, sweetheart.”

Slowly, he lets go of the table, which immediately gives a protesting crack. Steve watches, so still that Bucky thinks he may even be holding his breath. Moving very deliberately, Bucky places both hands on Steve’s hips, making sure to get a good grip, his thumbs under the ridges of his pelvis.

“This might hurt a little,” he says. “I’m sorry in advance, babe. Ready?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes.

Bucky shifts one foot off the chair it had been propped on, leaving his other on the chair next to it; the table creaks warningly. In one quick breath he sits up and puts all his weight on the foot still on the chair, then steps to the floor as the table cracks again. He can feel his metal thumb grinding along Steve’s hipbone. Somehow his dick is still in him.

Steve is breathing again, quick against Bucky’s mouth; they both turn to look at the table. It doesn’t look much different, except for the bend right where Bucky’s back had been. Laughing a little, Bucky turns his head to look up at Steve.

He’s already looking back, his eyes wide and dark, pink running high on his cheeks, his thighs clinging to Bucky’s hips. One hand at the back of Bucky’s neck, he tips back a little, arching his spine, relying on Bucky holding him up as he rolls his hips and gives a little whine. “God, you’re so— _Bucky_ —” he mumbles, his breath hot in Bucky’s mouth, “fuck, you’re so strong.”

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky gasps as Steve tightens around him again, wiggling a little to slide up and down on Bucky’s dick. It’s—it’s stupid, absurdly hot, watching Steve do that, knowing he’s so hot for it he won’t even wait until they find another flat surface. Bucky shifts his hands under Steve’s ass one at a time, helping him move, and uses the two brain cells that aren’t focused on the hot little moans Steve’s making to decide that the kitchen counter is closer than the wall.

Bucky steps over to it and Steve squeaks when the movement jostles him, and again when his back hits the cold marble countertop. Bucky presses him down, swallowing Steve’s moan with another kiss, and starts to fuck him again. Steve’s breath stutters in his chest, and Bucky kisses at his nipples, gone tight from the cold at his back.

Normally, Steve being this ready and hot for it would make Bucky want to tease him a little, draw it out, just to get him whining, but right now that’s the furthest thing from Bucky’s mind.

“Jesus, look at you,” he says, grinding into Steve as Steve rakes his nails over Bucky’s shoulders and down his chest. “Look at you, kitten. You’re so hot for it, aren’t you? How bad you want it? C’mon, sweet thing, talk to me.”

For a moment, all that comes out of Steve’s mouth is stuttering moans. His plush pink mouth is open, wet, and if Bucky didn’t want to hear him talk he’d go ahead and stick his fingers in there just so Steve could have something to suck on.

“I—I want it, Buck—Bucky— _oh,_ ” Steve finally gasps. “I need it, Bucky, please—come on, fuck me—Bucky, Bucky, _Bucky._ ”

It’s starting to sound like the only word he knows is Bucky’s name, which means he’s getting close already. Bucky hauls him closer, his left arm under the arch of Steve’s back so he can really get at him, hard and deep.

Straightening up, Bucky flattens his right hand on Steve’s hip, holding him right where he wants him and grinding up into him. Steve seems to give up on talking, tipping his head back; Bucky traces the thrumming vein in his neck all the way down his chest, past his heartbeat, around his belly button, and up the vein in his cock.

With both hands Steve grabs at Bucky’s forearm, panting. His whole body tightens up, legs locking around Bucky’s waist, ass clenching around his cock, nails digging into his wrist. He gasps in, and in, and in—and comes, all of a sudden, spilling hot all over his stomach, flushed pink.

“Yeah, sugar, yeah, like that,” Bucky murmurs, barely aware of what he’s saying, chasing his own orgasm. The way Steve’s looking at him, biting his lip all pretty and vulnerable, it’s barely any time at all.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes, “Buck—come in me, I want it in me— _Bucky_.”

And how can he deny Steve that when he asks so nice? It rolls through him hard and shaking, and the next thing he knows he’s lying on Steve’s chest, their stomachs sticking together, Steve running his fingers through his hair. Bucky hums, contented, and briefly wonders where the cowboy hat went.

“You flatten me, sweet thing,” Bucky mumbles, kissing at whatever patch of skin is closest to his face. “You make me weak at the knees.”

There’s a smile in Steve’s voice when he speaks. “I thought you might like that.”

Bucky turns his face just enough that his nose is stuck between Steve’s bicep and his chest. His skin is damp and warm, and Bucky licks just to taste the salt of his sweat. “We’re going to be late to the party,” he says again.

Steve shudders at the vibrations of Bucky’s speech against the sensitive skin below his armpit. “No, we’re not,” he replies. Bucky picks his head up to look at him; Steve grins a little sheepishly. “I told you the wrong time so I could see your reaction to my costume.”

Bucky can’t help but smirk. “You sure saw it,” he says, and rolls his hips a little. “Felt it, too. Huh? Huh, kitten?”

Snorting, Steve busts up, kneeing Bucky in the ribs as he laughs. Bucky chuckles along, kissing whenever skin comes within reach, watching as Steve laugh-snorts. Finally he rolls his head on the countertop to look at the clock over the oven. He sighs and nudges Bucky’s cheek where it’s resting against the crook of his elbow. “We should get ready, though,” he says. “I should shower.”

Bucky pulls back a little more to look at him. His hair is a little sweaty, all fluffed up, and there are definitely hickies all over his neck and chest, and he’s still red all over. Bucky likes it.

“You look fine to me, sugar,” he says, smiling. Steve snorts again. “I think I have an addition to your costume, though.” He straightens, wrinkling his nose when their skin peels apart, and looks down to watch the cute little hip wiggle Steve always does as he pulls out of him. “Mm. Maybe I should shower too.”

“Carry me there?” Steve asks. When Bucky looks up at him he’s all doe-eyed, pretty and pouty and manipulative, and Bucky’s just destroyed. He can’t even complain. Instead he gets both arms around Steve’s waist and hauls him up, the two of them sticky and sweaty, still a little out of breath. Steve huffs a breath into his ear and squirms closer. “ _God_ , you’re sexy.”

Bucky laughs, reaching down to swipe his fingers through the mess on Steve’s thighs. “Keep talking, gorgeous.”

Steve keeps up a steady stream of praise as Bucky stumbles them to the bathroom and into the shower. His voice goes breathy and wanting again when Bucky presses him against the wall and slides into him again. He jerks Steve off slowly, watching his face, enraptured as usual by the pretty pink O his lips make and the long line of his throat. He comes with a high, sweet moan, and Bucky can’t help but follow a few seconds later.

“You really do kill me, you know that?” Bucky asks once Steve is back on his feet.

Steve steadies himself by leaning heavily against Bucky’s chest. “Love you,” he mumbles, and kisses Bucky’s collarbone.

Bucky washes them both leisurely, halfheartedly trying to get Steve to skip the party and stay in bed with him all night. He knows it probably isn’t going to work, but Steve’s just so hot for it tonight. He’s gotta try. It would be an insult to his own memory if he didn’t.

“Or, even better,” he says as they dry off, “We could just stay in bed _forever_. Forget the party. Forget saving the world. We’ll just order in all day and night and you’ll never have to put your clothes back on.”

Steve laughs. “You make a tempting offer, Buck, but I still gotta say no. I think you’d get sick of me.”

“Never.”

“Besides, didn’t you say you have an addition to my costume?”

Bucky had said that, and it’s a _great_ addition, but not as great as just spending the whole evening pressed all up against Steve’s naked skin in their bed. Still. Bucky plants a kiss on Steve and heads to the nightstand where they keep the lube and toys.

“Buck…” Steve starts, his voice cautious.

“Just a little plug, sweetheart,” Bucky says, turning around and holding up the plug in question. It’s simple, stainless steel, the loop small enough that it won’t show up under Steve’s obscene jeans.

Steve’s cheeks start to get all pink again, probably because he likes the idea and thinks he shouldn’t.

“ _Buck,_ ” he says, reproachful.

“Come on, baby,” Bucky says, leaning close and kissing at Steve’s ear. “It’ll keep you ready for me for after the party. Or during the party, in the coat room.”

Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s bicep, clearly wavering, those pretty blue eyes hazy on him. “I—oh, I’m going to regret this,” he finally says. He sighs. “How do you want me?”

“Just—” Bucky clears his dry throat—“just, um, lean over the counter, maybe?”

Unwrapping his towel from around his waist and placing it between his body and the cool counter, Steve does as he’s told. Bucky comes up close behind him, running a hand up his warm back, acutely aware of Steve’s eyes on him in the mirror.

They’d cleaned Steve up in the shower, but he’s still loose, so it’s just a matter of getting him slick again. In just a couple of minutes Bucky’s slipping the plug into him, rocking it a few times just to hear Steve whine, to feel as he reaches back to clutch at Bucky’s hip. “ _Fuck_ ,” Steve whispers, “Bucky—fuck, you’re—promise me we’re not going to stay at this party for too long.”

“An hour, tops,” Bucky says, and pulls him into another kiss, Steve still pinned to the counter, his back arched into a long beautiful bow.

  


Stark makes a sort of screeching noise when he finally finds them at the party. His mouth is open and he just gestures between them for a second, staring wordlessly. “Jesus Christ, you guys show up an hour and a half late, and _this_ is all you could come up with?” he mutters. It’s even better than Bucky could have hoped.

“I am Iron Man,” Bucky says, and flips the paper plate down over his face. He lifts the hand with the joy buzzer in the palm and makes a couple _pew pew_ noises. At Stark’s speechless gaping, Bucky gives him a friendly pat on the arm. The joy buzzer jolts Stark into talking.

“I _hate you_ ,” Stark says with another emphatic gesture. “I’ve seen _dog costumes_ better than this! And you!” He turns to Steve and then just gapes for another moment. “I don’t even know what to say to you, but that should be illegal. You know what, it probably is somewhere, I’m going to look it up. JARVIS, is that illegal somewhere?”

Steve looks down at his outfit—now complete with cowboy boots, several hickies, and a too-small white t-shirt that really leaves nothing at all to the imagination, not even the exact color of his nipples. He’s been practically glued to Bucky’s side since they got here twenty minutes ago. Bucky sure isn’t complaining.

“I think it looks good,” Steve says, propping his forearm on Bucky’s shoulder. It cocks his hip out and makes the hem of his t-shirt ride up, exposing a strip of skin that Bucky wants to sink his teeth into. He takes a drink so he doesn’t stare too long. “Classic Americana.”

Bucky almost shoots whiskey out his nose.

**Author's Note:**

> this exists because [lisa](http://lisa-in-the-sky.tumblr.com) and [i](http://rooonil-waazlib.tumblr.com) were thinking about steve in a cowboy costume and then about how much bucky would like it. the whole process went kind of like this:
> 
> *bad cowboy joke*  
> *bad cowboy joke*  
> *bad cowboy joke*  
> "hey did you know those electric buzzers pranksters wear on their hands aren't actually electric and are called JOY BUZZERS?"  
> *joy buzzer/vibrator comparisons*  
> *more bad cowboy jokes*
> 
> so...you're welcome for that, i guess?


End file.
